


And the history books forgot about us

by voodoochild



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: comment_fic, Future Fic, M/M, POV Bisexual Character, Slash, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Agency doesn't commemorate burned spies, nor are they welcome at the funerals of others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the history books forgot about us

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Missy, for the commentfic prompt _"Sam/Michael, pride goeth before a fall"_
> 
> Goes AU from "Out of the Fire". Title from Regina Spektor's "Samson".

The Agency doesn't commemorate burned spies. There's no pension, no plaques, no celebratory gala for those of us who became too much of a liability.

I always thought I'd get back in. Five years, tops. But five years became six, became ten, became fifteen.

I settled in Miami, that's true. Took care of my mom until the cancer got her. Became "Uncle Michael" for Nate and Holly and Fi and Jesse's kids and spoiled them rotten the way I never was. Did the "we help the helpless" thing for enough of an income to live comfortably on. Never once did I stop wishing I'd kept the list.

Destroying it, trying to live the life I'd been given? It was the wrong decision.

I regret all that.

I don't, for a single second, resent the guy that kept me sane and saved my ass every single time. Sam Axe risked his neck to stay with me after I was burned, and it's something I'll always be grateful for.

I can hear him now, bitching about how the lack of mojitos at this shindig was a crime against humanity, and how you'd think the Feds would spring for the good beer. He told me and Fi once - crammed into Fi's little Dodge on a stakeout - that he wouldn't want a big funeral. Just a bunch of good friends, drinking good booze, telling their best Sam Axe stories.

Fi's here. Jesse obviously can't be, but she's in a tight black dress and a blonde wig, talking to one of Sam's brothers. I'm glad she showed up - Sam would have appreciated it.

I'm going to be thrown out in a minute. Burned spies don't get invites to the wakes of federal agents and former Navy SEALs. Never mind that I've been all but married to the guy for the last fifteen years - and it was only unofficial due to the lack of constitutionality.

I talk the bartender into going next door for mint and cane sugar, and he comes back five minutes later to hand me a perfect mojito.

Here's to you, Sam.


End file.
